The Door that is Red
by serendipity do da
Summary: Before he was the Third Children, before he was the pilot of Unit-01, before he was 'Baka! Hentai', he was Ikari Shinji, the boy who lived in the house with the red door. (ch. 5 added. my god, i'm still alive..?)
1. The Door that is Red

**Chapter 1:**

** The Door that is Red**

People have always thought me weird for living with my teacher. It is a bit weird, however. I don't blame them. Not a bit. But when strange people that probably know my teacher from somewhere come over to visit, they don't use words like "strange". Instead, they use "charming" or "cute" though they're probably just talking about the house itself. It is a good house that people say look nice to live in. They stay and stay and touch our furniture without permission. Every now and then, a strange person who smells like cat fur or is wearing a shirt that looks like it's on backwards comes up to me and tells me that I should feel thankful for living in such a nice place and then they tease me saying that there is no need to run away this time. Each time I'm usually too caught up in the person's abnormality to hear much of what they are saying, but I still smile and nod because they think I'm a good boy. 

The door to my teacher's house is red. It is traditionally a color that is inviting and pleasing to the eye. That is what teacher tells me. However, I really hate the door because it is red. It is one of the things I hate about this house that everyone says looks nice to live in. I don't hate all things that are red, though. I once had a red balloon that teacher brought me, and I loved it forever until it eventually popped in my hands. It's just that this door reminds me of shirts. The last shirt I remember seeing my father wear was red. And so, I hate our door that is red. I once asked my teacher to change its color and I didn't think he heard me, but he did. 

"Red doors are welcoming," he says, "they make people want to come in." 

Well, I hate it for that reason, too. 

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Author's Notes: Okay, I won't lie to you. When I was first conceptualizing this story, it had nothing to do with Eva. So why did I change my mind? well, 

1. I've been wanting to do an Evangelion story for a really long time. 

2. Shinji fits as the lead character perfectly.

3. I wanted people to read this story. 

Anyway, this story details Shinji's life from when he is 9 to when he's 14 (it'll be shorter than you think). Think of them as sort of diary entries...or...memories. Whichever. The chapters will usually be pretty short, and will mostly focus on Shinji. Hopefully, some of them will even make you think a little. My goal is to provide a sort of background to the actual series (or at least to Shinji), and if I'm successful, I would have carved the image of a child that hates the color red into the Shinji we know today. If I could, I'd like to do one about Asuka, too......but maybe not. 

Hrmm... what else is there to say?

Well, I'll try to finish this soon, and thank you for deciding to read this (or at least kill some time by giving it a try). =b

Now go ahead and read some more chapters, but for now, ja. 

-- serendipity do da


	2. What's Your Name, Boy?

. **Chapter 2:**

. **What's Your Name, Boy? **

"Let's go to the park," my teacher says without warning. I get up and turn off the TV and put on my shoes, though I would much rather keep my shoes off and leave the TV on. Teacher always tries to do things like this with me, so I'm getting used to it. But today wasn't like that. Teacher was going across the street from the park to go get his car checked out or something like that. He just wanted to take me to the park so I would have something better to do than sit at home alone, watching TV. As if sitting alone in a park doing nothing was any better. But I guess it wasn't all bad. He bought me a popsicle, too, and even made it a green one, instead of red, though I wasn't really in the mood for a popsicle at all. 

And then he was gone. He sat me out on a bench in front of the area where some children younger than me were busying themselves on the swings and jungle gym, expecting me to go play when I was finished with my green popsicle. But I didn't really want to. The place looked busy enough without me having to be there, and the monkey bars always hurt my shoulders, anyway. I sat on that bench alone, growing older as teenagers flew by on their roller blades and sometimes bicycles shooting me glances that said "we're having fun". 

Then a young boy came and sat on the bench behind the one I was sitting on. He was older than me, or at least I think he was. I don't like to stare at people too long because it is rude. But he made my sitting on the bench worthwhile, as he had a radio with him. It was playing good music and it made me happy for every 5 seconds or so before it would cut out due to a bad reception. 

It was probably a very old radio. 

That was most likely the reason why he didn't stay long, either. There were a lot of trees here, maybe a place with not as many would've given him clearer sound, so he left. I had nothing better to do, so I decided to follow him and the music, but I couldn't since he was already gone. Older kids were always such fast walkers. I looked around with my ears, trying to find the boy and his radio. Spinning around in circles with my half-eaten popsicle until a man with a chin full of stubble came up to me looking angry, as if I'd stolen his razor. 

"What's your name, boy?" he asked, his voice firm and in command. 

"Honey, don't say it like that, you'll scare the poor dear!" There was a lady behind the scary man who was digging in her purse for something. She was very pretty and had hair that was long and shiny like silk or something else that was nice to touch. She leaned closer to me with a smile that made me feel better. 

"What's your name, sweetie?" Her voice was soft and nice like a mother's. The kind of voice you hear saying nice things about you outside your room when you're pretending to be asleep.

"Shinji....Ikari Shinji" I felt the need to be obedient to the nice lady behind the scary man, so I told her my name. That was the name my father gave me -- I don't particularly like that name. It's no wonder I didn't answer the man when he asked me first.

"And where're your Mommy and Daddy?" 

Oh, they probably thought I was lost. I probably looked the part, too. I was all alone, frantically looking around as most lost boys do. I established in my mind that they were probably nice people. 

__

'Mommy and Daddy...' I echoed the words in my mind. "I don't know," I honestly said, as if I've seen either one in the last week or month or year.

The lady stood upright again and said quiet words to the man. "See, honey, I knew it." She turned back to me with the same smile. "Well then, where--" she was cut off when my teacher came back saying my name. 

"Oh, are you this boy's father?" the lady asked my teacher, her voice not as motherly and without the smile she gave me. 

"Well, no. I just take care of Shinji." 

"I see," said the lady, not saying more, though it looked like she wanted to. 

I threw away my popsicle before I could finish it. Then my teacher and I headed out of the park and everything was quiet. On the ride home he told me not to talk to strangers. 


	3. My Name is Shinji

. **Chapter 3: **

. ** My Name is Shinji **

My name is Ikari Shinji and I live with my teacher. I didn't always, though. I used to live with my parents, but that was before I ran away. I didn't know how to run away then. I was bad at it. I took one of my father's duffle bags and filled it with three shirts, a book my mother used to read to me, my piggy bank that had enough money to buy ice-cream and a pair of clean underwear. But I know better now. If I was to run away again, I'd probably bring along some pants as well. 

"Is your mother or father available?" 

"Yes," I lie, then give the phone to my teacher. He thanks me and hands me one of the three chocolate kisses he was holding. I know that my teacher is not my father or even wants to be, but I was in no mood to tell that telemarketer that I lived with my teacher, and then hear him repeat it, making sure that he heard me right. 

A long time ago I got in trouble at school for digging holes with other boys. I had to go to the principal who was very strict and very angry. He threatened to call my parents. 

"I don't live with my parents." 

"Then who do you live with?" 

"My teacher." 

"Don't lie to me, boy!" 

I actually was lying. I didn't live with my teacher yet, and was staying at a charity organization for orphans and runaway children. The administrators were in the process of finding me a foster home but apparently, no one wanted me at the time. I didn't want to tell the principal that I lived with no one, but it seemed that I had to. He still didn't believe me. 

"If you lie to me one more time...! Tell me your parents' names!!" 

I lowered my head and conceded. "I-Ikari Gendo...and..." Everything had suddenly gotten worse. I'd forgotten my mother's name somehow. Perhaps it was the pressure or perhaps something inside me just didn't want to remember. I don't know if it was because of that or the principal yelling at me that I started crying. 

The principal looked up the name Ikari in his directory and turned the computer monitor towards me. 

"Are these your parents' names? Answer me!" 

I nodded my head even though I knew what he showed me weren't really their names. Tears were streaming down my face and my nose was runny and my body was hiccupping inside. I wanted to roll up into a ball and separate myself from the world just then. 

"You can expect a call from me tonight. Now take this and get out of here." He handed me a note and sent me to class. He probably did call that other Ikari family, but I'll never really know for sure. When I got to class I put my head on my desk and cried while everyone stared. The next day, teacher offered that I live with him. My life can be kinda ironic sometimes. 

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Author's Notes: 

Fact: The descripiton at the beginning tof this chapter of what Shinji took along with him when he ran away is roughly based on the things I packed when I tried to run away from home, myself... (when I was 6) ^^;; 

That is all.


	4. Hayao Who Yawns

**Chapter 4: **

Hayao Who Yawns

"Education is a full time job that keeps you employed for life!"

My teacher is always saying things like that. He thinks they're motivational, but then again, not many people have ever agreed with him about much. 

Especially not Hayao. 

Hayao is a boy in my class. He is actually known for being the smartest boy amongst everyone else due to his vast knowledge of what really happens to slugs when you put salt on them and how to attract girls by showing them what's underneath your fingernails. However, it is a known fact Hayao is always tired. Perhaps it is from telling too many stories. At least, that is what most of us have always thought. He would constantly yawn -- his mouth opening big and wide like what happens when you say his name too slowly. Everyone would tease him whenever he yawned, too, saying things like next time why don't ya tell us the abridged version of the Book of Hayao. 

Hayao would never pay attention in class. My teacher always hated this. "Wake up, Hayao!" he'd yell, "You'll sleep your life away one of these days, you will!" Now that I think about it, he'd almost never give me that much attention. But that's OK. I like Hayao. He is brave. He would sit there and tell his stories and grin big stupid grins at the teacher and not be afraid.

My teacher once called for a conference with Hayao's parents to talk about how he's always tired. I had to stay as well and wait for teacher, so I sat in my desk in the back of the room pretending to read while in secret, I watched Hayao as a spectator would watch a fearless boxer. Though today, he looked odd and unlike himself -- instead of seeming older and brave, he was a little kid like me and he never looked up, not even once. He sat in between his mother and father with his head sunken in beneath his shoulders. 

I remember before the conference, Hayao whispered in my right ear that his parents make him work at their shop after he comes home from school, and that's why he's always tired. However, that's not what his parents said. They simply said that he needed more sleep and would make sure that he got some. His father was an angry man, and would constantly shoot looks at Hayao as if he were staring at a pile of dirty dishes. His mother said next to nothing, and mostly stared out the window, humming a pleasant song that had no beginning or end. Before going home, I remember seeing tears start to run down Hayao's face. 

That was a week ago. Nowadays, Hayao does not tell as many stories, nor does he yawn as much, but when he does, I notice that now he is missing a tooth. 

He is still good old Hayao, though. Hayao who plays with bugs and girls and who likes grinning but doesn't anymore. Hayao who is brave and smart and isn't afraid of anything except dentist appointments, math tests and going home.


	5. Girls

. **Chapter 5: **

. ** Girls**

It does not surprise me that God ended up making man and woman on different days. He had to find time to figure out a way to put man's worst enemy and greatest puzzle into a package that ironically, man would also be attracted to. It is my assumption that God is probably secretly evil.

Boys smell.

They giggle under their breath as they huddle around each other and say that and a number of other offensive things. I think they hate us. What have we ever done to them? They hate us because we are different. Because our hair is not long and does not shine like theirs. And because our voices aren't as high and our eyes aren't as pretty when we smile.

"But don't you think Kenichi is cute?"

Or maybe they just hate some of us. I guess girls aren't always all bad..

"Kenichi?! Eww!!"

No...they hate all of us. Nevermind.

Ai dances on Fridays. Other than that, she hardly ever goes outside or does anything normal girls her age do. Her family is strict and eat with chopsticks made of shiny new metal or ones made from only the best wood. Some of them are connected at the top with a little chain, so one never loses the other. I know this because Ai uses them to eat her boxed lunches sometimes.

"Do you like my chopsticks?" she asks me, when I am caught looking at them.

"Well, you can have them," she says, "You can have all of them."

Ai dances on Fridays, goes to her family's temple on Sundays. What she does on Saturdays is a mystery.

She is different from the other girls. She never gossips or giggles or talks about which boy is cute and which one smells like old leather. Though that is probably because all the other girls don't like her. They all think she is rich and snobby and doesn't belong. But I know she's not like that. I'm positive she's not like that.

"Well, you can have them," she says, "You can have all of them." She offers me the used pair she held in her hands and I back away. She looks at me with sad, brown eyes and I say nothing to her. I'm both embarrassed and afraid. Afraid of her. Afraid to be hated.

Ai is still a girl. And girls hate boys.


End file.
